


Devil's Game

by mikazure



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Beck hot, Church Sex, Deal with a Devil, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demonic Possession, Devil!Beck, Dubious Consent, Fear, Illustrated, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manipulation, Mirror Sex, Rituals, SSBBsKinktober2020, fic with fanart, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikazure/pseuds/mikazure
Summary: When the world is suddenly on the verge of being destroyed, what’s to be done?Peter summons the Devil himself hoping for an answer.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81
Collections: Thwip & Hari's Kinktober '20





	Devil's Game

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! 👻🎃
> 
> This fic was inspired by one of my fav creepypastas called "The Devil Game" and parts of the book are from said pasta! 
> 
> Thanks for beta Spinning_In_Infinity 💙
> 
> EDIT: Now with [ fanart](https://twitter.com/mikazure/status/1341161211300376577?s=20) by yours truly :3

When the world is suddenly on the verge of being destroyed, what’s to be done?

One could plunge into despair and try to live their last days the best they can, or do whatever it takes to stop it.

Peter chose the latter option. He never gave up; even in the grimmest scenarios, he fought. This time was no different.

Though what he was currently doing didn’t seem much like the regular “fighting”. But by all means served the same purpose.

Since Thanos got hold of all Infinity Stones, Peter decided to help Doctor Strange in the Kamar-Taj, hoping they could maybe find some ancient, forgotten solution to destroy the Stones in the monastery library.

They spent days and nights studying the old books. After a while, though, Peter lost count. He was so tired. He napped here and there, when his eyes refused to stay open, but felt bad that he was resting, when others carried on.

The boy rubbed his tired eyes and got up to put back the book he’d just finished reading. As he rose, he felt his senses tingling in an unfamiliar way. Deciding to follow the hunch, he advanced deeper into the maze of shelves.

The tips of his fingers gently brushed the spines of the tomes as he searched for something – the one. After few turns, he felt a shiver and his eyes landed on one inconspicuous black book. With sacred caution, he pulled it out and wiped off the dust. The tome was covered in black leather and studded with green stones that seemed to be glowing in the shadows.

There was something really strange about this book. It seemed to be. . . calling to him, which should have been a warning on its own, but his judgment was clouded and he somehow felt at ease holding it. Deep down he felt this might be the answer they were looking for.

Peter grabbed a few other books on his way, instinct telling him he should hide the black one. A feeling of nervous guilt crept up his spine, as if he was doing something wrong just by touching it. But if it was there on a shelf, out in the open, surely it couldn’t be anything bad? Or so he hoped.

The young hero sat down, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, but thankfully everyone was too engrossed to pay him any mind.

With shoulders stiff in anticipation and slightly trembling hands, Peter opened the book.

_This is a set of instructions for how to speak with the Devil._

Hell of an opening line, huh. The boy raised an eyebrow skeptically, but then thought better of it. He had superpowers, the world was about to be destroyed by a purple guy with few colorful stones and he was sitting in ancient library with a magician – a whole bunch actually. The Devil might as well be real, and this book should be enough proof of that in itself.

Then there was a warning, highly advising not to follow any further instructions and save yourself eternal damnation if you absolutely didn’t need to. Fair enough. Not the case in this instance though.

_That isn’t going to stop you, is it? Not if you’re sincerely interested, at least. Technically, if you do everything just right, there’s a fair chance you’ll walk away scot-free; and that seems to be reason enough for some people to decide that it’s a good idea._

_Especially if you’re the fate-tempting, thrill-seeking, scare-junkie type. Or the desperate type._

He was definitely desperate, alright. Even if Peter had his doubts about how real this whole deal was, he wasn’t one to tempt his already unlucky fate by underestimating the threat. The pure anxiety of attempting to summon a demon was probably enough to scare him senseless, even if it ended up not working.

More warnings and a brief explanation of why making a deal with the Devil was a very bad idea. Figured.

_This ritual, if performed correctly, should only allow the two of you to talk._

Good, good, that didn’t sound too bad. Peter felt his palms getting sweaty.

_This, perhaps, begs the question of WHY exactly you would want to speak with the_

_Devil in the first place. Short answer is – he KNOWS things._

_Of course, the Prince of Darkness doesn’t just go around giving out answers to anybody who asks. And trusting any sort of information obtained from a being commonly described as “the father of all lies” is liable to land you in a worse situation than you were in when you started._

_However, if you’re really dead set on finding something out, and you’ve exhausted all other options, there IS a way to try to get accurate information out of the guy._

Nothing could ever be that easy though. . .

_The Devil has a bit of a penchant for games and gambling._

_Of course, the reason he likes them so much is that he almost always wins._

Games. _Juuuust great._ Peter wasn’t very confident in his gambling ability, not with that foul luck of his. Was he really going to risk a match with the Devil himself? As much as he’d like to say no, he was probably going to do it.

_You’re probably going to get your ass handed to you._

_But, if you’re determined enough to want to face the risks and the long odds,_

_there’s a certain game the two of you could play to try to win the information you need._

Ever since he opened the book, there was a feeling of unease sitting like a rock in his stomach. And it only grew as he kept reading. Was it just paranoid thoughts or was the text mocking him?

Peter shook his head. No, that’d be ridiculous. Maybe it was just the way it was written that made it seem so. It’s not like the text said what it said, because of _him_. Other people would think similar things reading it, right?

_First things first, though. We’ll start off with a description of the summoning process._

He was reaching the point of no return. Not that he’d want to turn back now. No, he’d do it and save everyone. It was his duty as a hero.

.

.

.

So there he was, sneaking through an unkempt graveyard and into an old abandoned church, accompanied by the last rays of setting sun. It was a peculiar thing to do, but part of the ritual, nonetheless.

Peter came earlier to set everything up and check twice or even thrice if everything was as it should be before midnight.

The boy stopped before the entrance, looking up at the cracked walls of the building. The church towered over him and Peter felt so small.

“God, what am I doing. . .”

Sighing to himself, he tightened the grip on his backpack and walked up the steps. He was already here, he had to do this. Even if every cell in his body begged him to run away while he still could.

Peter closed his eyes and slapped himself with both hands, hard enough for the sting to ground him. Just don’t panic. There’s nothing to panic about, _yet._

He pushed the big door open and it welcomed him with a loud rasp. He took a moment to take in the view. This place must have been so beautiful once, because even now in its rundown state, it still managed to mesmerize the boy.

The golden light poured through the stained glass, coloring the inside. The cracked walls and dusty rows of pews set up an uncanny atmosphere, as if the place were frozen in time.

Peter slowly made his way to the altar, his footsteps echoing against overwhelming silence.

He set his backpack next to the full-length mirror, conveniently standing propped up against the wall. He briefly wondered why it was there in the first place. Well, at least it saved him the trouble of acquiring and bringing one all the way here himself, since it was an integral part of the ritual.

Peter crouched and started pulling out other necessary things: a package of salt, seven red candles, a box of matches, a spool of red yarn and a flashlight. The last one wasn’t really needed and he couldn’t have it with him for the ritual. Still, knowing he had some light source at hand for now brought him a bit of comfort.

With a deep breath, Peter started the preparations. First, a circle of salt around the mirror. He picked up the package and carefully poured it in a thick, unbroken border, making sure it closed behind the frame.

Next the yarn. The boy minded his step as he wrapped the thread around the mirror several times. Peter knew that the color red was a symbol of protection in folklore of many cultures. He vastly hoped it’d protect him tonight.

Then he picked up the candles and set them outside the salt circle evenly. Almost done. Peter noticed his hands shaking as he reached for the matchbox. The first match broke as he tried to light it with too much force. _Calm down. Deep breaths. You got this._

He succeeded with the next match, the hiss of fire almost too loud in the quiet building. Peter lit the candles clockwise, as the instruction stated, and only now noticed that they were the only light source in the dark church. How has he not noticed the sun setting completely?

The boy glanced around nervously. Long dancing shadows cast by the flames gave the scene a truly nightmarish look. Even his own reflection seemed unfamiliar, deformed by the dim light.

He checked the time; only ten minutes left before midnight. Time flew by frighteningly fast in this place. Peter had to keep that in mind and try to measure it, somehow. After all, he only had 66 minutes and 6 seconds – very subtle. As stated in the book, he couldn't go past that limit. Not if he wanted to survive the encounter in one piece, physically and spiritually.

Quickly he packed the remnants, his flashlight and watch into the backpack, before putting it out the door and making sure it was closed. Yet another requirement.

Now, he had to get the Devil’s attention somehow. The boy had to “demonstrate his resolve by performing some sort of sacrilegious act in the holy space”. Peter made his way to the small crucifix hanging few feet away, that he took note of when the sun was still up.

“Um, I’m sorry. . .” he murmured before turning it upside down. It was the least he could do, but he still felt bad for doing so.

Hesitantly, he went back in front of the mirror, taking small steps and stalling as much as he could.

Peter looked into his eyes, gathering his courage for the last time. He clenched his fists and, as advised, focused all his thoughts and determination on the mirror, wishing for the Devil to appear there. After few moments, he felt something, like a static wave. Some sort of power coming from the frame that made his senses go off. It was getting stronger. He closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening them to a reflection that was no longer his.

His eyes widened in panic and disbelief. _Holy shit, it actually worked!_ Peter let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. This. . . this was the Devil, standing there in the mirror right before him.

Peter’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe a conventional red, horned demon with goat legs or some other horrendous beast he’d seen in movies and games. The appearance exceeded his expectations though.

The Devil looked like a normal man. Well, not quite “normal”. More like, way-more-than-average-and-totally-Peter’s-type kind of handsome. Clad in a neat suit, fitted and pitch-black, and a pair of equally dark shoes, that shone with the candle lights. He was tall and the way he stood emitted inhuman power and confidence.

The boy couldn’t quite describe his face; it was just perfect. There was no other way to put it. Even if he spoke all languages, he just couldn’t delineate. The words were eluding him or maybe it was simply the doing of the Devil’s charm.

The only thing giving away his hellish descent were the eyes. Beautiful, deadly, frightening, shining with the most sinister gleam, burning with malevolent amusement and predatory hunger. It was so easy to get lost in them.

Making direct eye-contact, Peter felt the dread and helplessness like never before. He had to stop, or he felt like his soul would burn to ashes just from the hellfire in those irises. Frantically, he shifted his gaze down to the demon’s mouth, twisted in a sadistic, too wide smile, flashing with two sharp canines.

“Hello, boy,” the Devil greeted and for another moment Peter stood there dumbfound. He’d never heard such a timbre, soft yet firm and seeming to echo in his skull.

When he finally found his tongue, the boy’s face was flushed from effort, or the way this being made him feel, or both.

“H-hello Your Majesty, Mister Devil, Sir.” Peter blurted out. Just why was he like this? At that moment, he wasn’t even sure if he was more embarrassed or scared.

A deep chuckle rumbled in the nave and the boy felt it in his bones.

“Oh, no need for such formalities, sweet thing. You can just call me Quentin, Quentin Beck.”

Peter nodded shortly. Surely it wasn’t the Devil’s real name; it seemed too normal. Nothing like the fancy ancient ones that could be found in grimoires or other occult books.

Beck was looking at him expectantly as the seconds dragged on, but upon not getting more than a confused quick glance in return, he said. “Have you no manners? Introduce yourself.”

Peter knew it was a trick. He couldn’t give the Devil his name. Names held great power and were akin to offering himself. Quentin’s face betrayed no emotions, but demon’s tone made the boy almost want to give in.

Nervously, Peter licked his lips. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Beck. As much as I’d like to, I can’t introduce myself.”

“Clever kid, aren’t you?” the demon smirked. “Well then, what is it that you desire from me, _Peter_?” Although the boy knew the Devil would know his name, he couldn't help but shiver at the sound of it on Beck’s lips.

“I’d like to challenge you to a game of question and response. . .Sir.”

“I accept.” The demon smiled and snapped his fingers. Behind him, in the mirror, appeared an exceptional throne that he casually sat down in.

As written in the book, this wasn’t something the Devil wasn’t used to. This was probably his favorite game, allowing him to mess with poor, unfortunate souls. As far as the rules went, it seemed easy. One question, one answer. If Peter answered, he could ask a question back. The catch was, he had to answer correctly, in order to get a truthful answer from the Devil. The only silver lining was that he wouldn’t get punished for wrong answers. Still, that meant he wouldn’t get the answers he needed, if he didn’t get at least one question right.

The demon was almost devouring poor Peter with his eyes. There had been others before him, foolish humans not aware of the powers they were messing with, but this one was different. A smart boy, his doe eyes full of reverence and fear. Once he noticed the effect of his gaze, he barely dared to look up at Quentin’s face, only stealing quick glances as the boy couldn’t resist engraving the superior beauty in his heart forever to remember.

So there Peter was, standing awkwardly and clenching his fist in an anxious manner. Even with the Devil sitting, the boy felt intimidated and looked down on.

“Go on then. I’m curious as to what question you wish answered.” Beck made an encouraging motion.

“I— is— how can I and the other Avengers stop Thanos and save everyone?”

The demon didn’t let it show, but he already thought of him fondly. This was by far the least selfish question anyone had ever asked him. Such devotion. Such kindness. A soul so pure and good, truly extraordinary. One could have mistaken him for an angel, but no, he was _far_ more ethereal. Beck wanted him, his soul, craved it like no other before. All of Peter, just for himself. But first he’d mess with him; make that fragile soul tremble.

“If you had to let one of the Avengers die, which would you choose?”

Quentin wouldn't make it easy, obviously, and for a moment Peter could only stare, taken aback.

  
  
“That’s— How could I make a choice like that!?”

“It’s not a hard question. A purely theoretical scenario. If you had to make that choice, who would it be?”

The question alone made Peter feel uncomfortable, but the Devil’s dark tone didn’t help it. He didn’t want to answer that. He just couldn’t imagine letting one of his friends die.

“I can’t answer that. . .” he said, resigned.

“No? And here I was, being nice and giving you an easy one for the start. Shame.” Beck shrugged, pretending like he cared.

“Another question then.”

A few questions later and, as never before, the boy felt small and unknowledgeable. He knew nothing. Personal questions or trivia, everything the demon threw at him left him doubtful and uncertain. This was not how things were supposed to go.

“I don’t know.” With each failed question, Peter’s expression grew more frightened and full of despair. The Devil really wouldn’t let him win and he’d just stupidly put himself at risk by coming here.

That wouldn’t do, Peter could never win, no human ever did. But if Quentin didn’t help him right now, there was a possibility that this boy would die in battle and then his soul would never be his. Beck couldn’t risk giving up a soul such as this one to the Heavens. Never. The boy belonged to him, since the moment he’d decided to open the book.

“Outside of the game, say. Why did you come to me?” Demon asked, giving him a hooded gaze.

The boy seemed abashed. “I hoped I could, somehow. . .”

“No one has ever won against me. You’re a smart boy, you should have known that you had no chances to begin with.”

Peter’s concerned frown deepened. He looked so desperate. _Adorable._

“Yet you chose to try anyway.” On his side of the glass, Beck rose from the throne and walked closer to the mirror’s border. “There are so many lives at stakes. What would you do for them? How much are you willing to sacrifice, Peter?”

Peter took a step back and observed with wide, fearful eyes as the surface cracked slightly, where the Devil put his hands on it.

Just as fast, Quentin’s expression turned from feral, back to the one of stoic, smug superiority.

“You can’t win, but I’m willing to offer you a deal.”

Peter swallowed a lump in his throat and tried to find his tongue. “I-I don’t think I should make any deals with you, Mr. Beck. That’s very thoughtful of you to offer, but I’m not sure if—”

The being cut in. “If it’s a good idea to make a deal with the Devil?”

With apologetic look the boy nodded, earning him a chuckle from the other.

“I understand why you’d be wary, however it’s not that kind of deal. I won’t take your soul with it.” _Not yet, that is_. “After all, you merely want an answer in exchange.”

Worrying at his bottom lip, Peter relaxed ever so slightly. “Then what would you want?”

A malicious smile split the demon’s face. Or so the boy thought, but it happened so quickly, it could have only been his imagination, tricked by the dim candlelight.

“Your virginity.”

Peter shouldn’t really have been surprised that Quentin knew that. Of course he did, like everything else, which was why the hero came here in the first place.

He pondered the offer. He should be more reluctant, but truth be told he didn’t hate the idea.

“Just my v-virginity?”

“Indeed.”

“But you’re there— how would that even um. . . work?”

The mirage shifted and now Peter could see both the Devil and his own pale reflection. The rational part of him knew that the being was only in the mirror and not actually standing next to him, but he barely curtailed his urge to check.

Now, in comparison, the boy could see just how much taller and wider Beck’s frame was.

When one of Devil’s big hands landed on his shoulder, he really didn’t expect to actually feel it.

“O-oh.” Was all he could manage. So that’s how this was supposed to go.

“So? Do you agree, baby?” Peter felt hot breath against his skin as Quentin whispered it right in his ear. His face turned bright red, visible even in the faint light.

He shouldn’t agree, God knows he shouldn’t. The book warned him about it. But this was his best bet. His only chance to get out of this with _something_. He would do it for his friends, his aunt, and all the other people. A small price to pay to save everyone, really.

So Peter took a deep breath and decided. “Y-yes.”

The Devil took his hand and kissed the top of it. “Then it’s a deal.”

With that Beck started to assail his body, or his reflection’s body, however that worked. Clawed hands were mapping his shivering skin in amorous caresses. The trails of his touches tingled, leaving Peter’s breath ragged in a matter of seconds.

Soon enough, his pants were dropped and pooled at his ankles. The boy was leaning against Beck’s broad chest, his cock already leaking and twitching in the chilly night air.

The demon’s hand was brought to Peter’s lips and he opened them obediently. Sharp nails scraped his tongue, but he sucked and licked the best he could, drool rolling down his chin as he coated the digits in his spit.

Seemingly satisfied, Quentin pulled out and brought his hand down to prod at the boy’s hole, playing with the tight ring of muscle, while his other hand snaked up Peter’s chest and rested on his neck, not quite choking, but keeping him firmly in place there.

To Peter’s surprise and relief, the finger that slid into him lacked the sharp edge. He relaxed more, only to feel another digit being added into him.

Mouth hanging open, the boy couldn’t believe how good just someone’s fingers could feel.

After working him open with a third finger, the Devil deemed that enough and the next moment Peter could feel something hot and heavy pressing against his rear.

The demon caught one of his legs and pulled it up, giving himself a better view and making the boy squirm with how exposed the new position made him, which clearly let Beck derive some sort of appalling satisfaction.

The demonic virility pressed against his taint. The tip prodded and slipped past the boy’s sphincter. Peter shifted his hips, unconsciously inviting the greater one in. He could feel his walls opening and the whole length of it sinking deep within him.

Watching the mirror with horrifying fascination and deep, shameful lust, Peter couldn’t look away. Even if he wasn’t bound by the rules of the ritual, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able nor want to look away. The sight made him feverish, his body burning with fire, spreading from where he was connected to the demon. Each touch felt like a flick of flame, burning the very tips of his nerves.

Dimly, he pondered the weight of his sin and its consequences. Surely he shouldn’t be so selfish as to take pleasure in it. Though before the guilt could start consuming him, with one move from the being behind him, those thoughts faded like a morning fog. An initially slow rhythm started to melt his anxiety away, and dimmed his senses.

This wasn’t a sin. _No. This was an honor._ To be taken by the entity older than the cosmos itself.

Peter blinked away the tears, still looking in the mirror, but his mind was miles away. Blinded with pleasure pooling into his very soul. The world seemed to stop existing, nothing mattered, only this moment. Or maybe hours, days, eternity. He wouldn’t know. This was beyond him, Peter realized. He only wished to stay like this forever. To be Quentin’s.

It felt right. So right. . .

The boy just wanted to close his eyes and indulge in the feeling, the fullness that might have just filled his existential emptiness.

_No! He couldn’t._ He snapped his eyes fully open. Gaze still fixed forwards, but blurry with tears of mostly pleasure.

_Focus._ He was here to save the world. His family, friends, everyone.

As if reading his thoughts, the demon doubled his ministrations and a broken moan escaped Peter’s lips. He flushed anew, wishing he could hide his face and not have to see the lewd look of his reflection.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. There’s nothing wrong in enjoying yourself, you know?”

“I’m not— _ah_!” Another moan caused the boy to shut his mouth closed, but he wasn’t sure which statement he had wanted to deny anyway.

“Denial is but the first step on the road to enlightenment.”

Peter was panting hard, his cheeks burned red and his forehead glistened with sweat. He was so close, the sensation driving him crazy. It was almost scary how good it felt.

“Oh God— I’m—!”

“ _He_ ’d never fuck you this good, only me.” Quentin scoffed and bit Peter’s neck, making him cry out and reach the highest of his peaks.

He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His very soul cracking under crumpling pressure. It was hard to breathe. Hard to see. Peter felt like he was at the verge of death. Then with one snap, his world exploded with pleasure. Like he was floating and being crushed under the waves of it. Like a thousand stars blinded him and completely overwhelmed all his senses for what felt like way too short yet so long all the same. It was an otherworldly experience and he felt his body go slack, even more putty in the Devil’s hands. A look of pure bliss fell across boy’s face. His mind momentarily whited with the intensity of it all.

Peter wasn’t sure how he’d managed to keep his eyes open and steady on the mirror. The Devil’s manhood slipped out of him, letting the seed leak down to the church’s flooring.

“Good boy.” Beck’s hands were the only thing keeping Peter’s fucked-out body upright.

“Th-thank you, Sir.” He wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for exactly, but a grateful purr slipped out of his mouth anyway.

With that, the reflection shifted again and Peter fell to the floor, surprised by the sudden lack of support on his tired body. Slowly, he pulled his pants back up, wincing at the slick, unpleasant wetness, but ignoring it for the time being.

The Devil patiently waited for him to recover, watching the boy with lips twisted in the ever-present smirk. When Peter made himself presentable and his head cleared a bit, Beck finally gave him the answer he came here for. They made a deal, so this must have been the truth. Peter did it! He could go back and proudly tell the others how to stop Thanos!

As the book stated, he had to properly end the ritual. So they young hero thanked Quentin, bowed slightly and bid him farewell with a beaming face.

The demon returned his goodbyes and disappeared, leaving the boy alone with his reflection. He waited a moment longer, but when he was sure Beck was gone, he started dismantling the protections.

Peter couldn't wait to walk out, take a breath of fresh air and never go near this place ever again.

But when he opened the door, he was greeted with nothing. An endless empty void, stretching infinitely before his eyes.

“What. . .?” His face immediately fell at the sight.

_No, no, no! This was not how it was supposed to end! He did everything right, he did. . ._

A cruel malicious laugh pulled the boy out of his spiral of panic and despair. He looked back to the mirror and saw himself: his reflection, but with his face twisted in victorious glee and those demonic eyes mocking him.

“Tick tock, tick tock, someone forgot to mind the clock.” A sing-sang voice rang in his ears.

The time limit. Peter had no way of checking it and frankly he had no idea how much time had passed. Maybe he went only five minutes over the restriction, maybe hours. But that didn’t matter to the Devil – he’d won.

“No. . .”

He didn’t want to accept the fate that he’d unwittingly brought upon himself. Peter wobbled to the mirror on shaking legs.

“No, no, please, don’t. I can’t— I don’t want to—!” Pounding on the glass with his fists, the hero begged and cried. The Devil just watched with a merciless, amused smirk as the boy thrashed in the limbo to no avail. Finally, he gave up, with his fists and throat sore from protests he slid down the surface to his knees, sobbing openly. Beautiful eyes glimmering with a steady stream of tears turned up to look right into the Devil’s. He had nothing to lose anymore.

“Pl-ease, please, I'm begging you. I can’t stay here, I have— I have to—” Peter barely managed to hiccup between the sobs. That much was true, but he was also abjectly terrified. His soul belonged to the Devil now, and he wasn’t even entirely aware of all the horrors that fact boded.

“Rules are rules. You knew what you were in for.”

Still wearing Peter’s appearance, or maybe his body, Quentin turned around and headed for the door in the real world.

“But don’t worry, precious. I always keep my word, so as promised, I’ll help your friends save the world.”

When he opened the church door, Peter could just see the bright, red tinted moon outside. His shoulders sagged in utter defeat.

“And you, don’t go anywhere.” With one last wink, he disappeared, leaving the boy trapped in the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Moral of the story: don't summon demons, kids 😈
> 
> Thanks for reading, leave a comment if you enjoyed <3


End file.
